I don’t know how to heal a heart.

My mom bought me a chair that looked exactly like hers because I liked it so much. Unfortunately, it smelled like laquer so she swapped her chair with mine and I got her old chair and she got my new chair. They are exactly the same. She didn’t mind the laquer smell. She knew I was sensitive to chemicals and wanted me to have the chair I liked.

When we moved in to our new house and throughout the years she has made little additions. She gave me her quilt which was always my favorite. She knew it, so she gave it to me. She bought curtains. In the reflection you can even see the chandelier she bought for us. Then the cute little mirror with hooks that hangs on the wall at the front door.
I also have our bench. It was the bench that used to sit in my old living room growing up. I’m not sure how it ended up at my house but it did. I lay down on it every night. Jessy used to lay right beneath it on his bed (my dog) and I’d rest my hand on him as I watched a movie. This bench has seen it all.

I wonder, if this bench could talk, what it would say about my mother and her life and how mine was intertwined. It sat through my parents divorce, my abuse, my first boyfriends, and even my husband. Now it sits in my house with the other things that remind me of my mother.

My mother is still alive. She still exists on this earth. Yet she doesn’t speak to me and with her old words I guess I wouldn’t want her to. I wonder, still, is she capable of change, is she capable of seeing ME. I could easily remove everything that even reminded me of her from my house like I sent back all of our chlldhood photos. All of the things that I took pictures of and posted here. I’ve learned though, that you can remove everything, physical and tangible, but the heart remembers.

My heart hurts for what it knows it will never receive from her or my brothers.

I thought getting out more would help. I thought driving again, having new life experiences, going out to get dinner with my husband, would help. I thought I would feel better about the loss of my body, my family, my life as it was, my health, my dog,if I just was more active, but I don’t.

I think the answer is acceptance. Or at least it’s a good portion of it. Because acceptance frees your mind to not be angry or think about how she caused you pain. It frees your mind for other things and people who are important to you. It frees your mind to give attention to yourself.

I’m not saying I’m there yet either. But I do hope I’m going toward that because no matter how much I hate the way my mother is and the way she treated me especially during the time my father was terminally ill, no amount of anger and wishing for her to change will bring that about.

I’m not trying to say that anger isn’t good or that acceptance is the same as forgiveness. They aren’t the same. I see forgiveness as being for them and acceptance is for yourself. It lets you have the peace you deserve.

Who is my central self.
Stripped away of identity,
Stripped away of connections and memory.
Who is my true self.
Stripped away of suffering,
Stripped away of nurture and mothering.
Who is my self.
Stripped of emotional ties,
Stripped of negativity and lies,
Stripped of the impact of life.
I am left with me.
Just my being.
And I like THIS person that I see.

Denial as a coping mechanism is so harmful, yet it is the route my mother chose and sticks to. I am learning that I can’t change that about her, but I can cut the chords that tie me to her dysfunction. Sending you warm thoughts…

I lived in close contact and loved my mother right to the end, her 91 me in my fifties. If I had to do it over I’d do it again. No, she didn’t protect me. No, she couldn’t really listen to what her sons had done nor could she talk about it. I had much to hold against her, and I did that right to the end. Love and hate. I rather wish I had been able to forgive earlier than the day before she died when I held her hand and told her I was sorry that I hadn’t until that moment.

She tried to be there for me despite my life of raging against her. I think I honestly began to really heal after she died when the the truth of what happened to me erupted from my depths. I clung to her and needed her right to end.
I’m not advising anything, just sharing a rather complicated relationship that I’m glad to have had yet see the toxicity of it at the same time. I erected boundaries early on and that made it doable. Though I loved her I had to also protect myself from her.

My mother chose to not speak to me. It was not my choice. During that time I have been able to reflect on our relationship. It would have never been my choice to lose her mother. I simply have to cope with it now that she has chosen that.
I agree with boundaries and it seems you knew about the toxicity but rather chose to love through it. I’m glad you had your mother.

I’m not sure what I would have done if she chose not to speak to me. I pulled away from her and didn’t interact or speak to her for about a year when first facing the reality of my past.
That is a tough one and must be so very painful. I’m sorry for that.

That’s the ten billion dollar question. And knowing that things or not having things doesn’t do the job, you’re on your way. I found ways to help heal mine. I hope you find yours, truly. Does deep prayer and meditation work for you?

I felt grief very strongly as I read your post. As I no longer speak with my mother, grief has been something i have had to process. And continue to do so. My mother made me a similar blanket and I have contemplated throwning it out but I don’t. It’s mine and I can hold on to it and grieve the mother that I do not have however deserve.